


What Are You In For?

by crabbybun



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Drinking, Gen, arrest stories, becky lynch said fuck cops, dean ambrose said fuck cops, drinking stories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 00:35:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18712888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crabbybun/pseuds/crabbybun
Summary: Set the Monday/Tuesday before Wrestlemania 35.  Dean Ambrose bails Becky Lynch out of jail after her last altercation.  They spend the night at the bar trading arrest stories.





	What Are You In For?

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired by a conversation @iceicesheamy had on Tumblr. I hope you all enjoy my version of this.
> 
> I vaguely tried to do Becky's accent, but I did't work real hard at it so I hope it's not too annoying.

“So, you’re not who I was expectin’ to come pay my bail,” Becky Lynch said as she downed a shot of whisky.  She sat at the table of a seedly little dive bar - a place so small it didn’t even have booths. The uneven and gouged out table she occupied was in a dimly lit, smoky corner, on the opposite side of all the bar attractions.  A bottle of whisky sat in the middle of the table, and across from her sat Dean Ambrose.

He chuckled and took his own shot as Becky reached across for the bottle. “And why is that now?” he asked offhandedly, draping an arm over the back of his chair and looking around the bar.  Becky’s cautious gaze never wavered from the figure of Ambrose, save when she was tending to her liquor.

“Well,” she drawled a little after a pause, “You’re not my friend, and I don’t get the feeling that you’re tryin’ to get inta my pants.”  Dean laughed, but otherwise didn’t reply. “‘Less you _are_ tryin’ ta get inta my pants, but I felt like that was more Seth’s thing than yours, you bein’ married an’ all.”  

Dean nearly choked on his shot in his laughter.  When he had recovered, around slightly maniacal giggles, he said, “We’re kindred spirits, that’s why.  I would have done the same thing you did tonight.”

Becky lifted an eyebrow, “And what do you mean by _that_?  The Man has no equal.”

Dean laughed again, gesturing vaguely with his shot, “Beating the crap out of your opponents & the cops to the cries of everyone telling you to stop despite the fact that each and every one of the bastards deserves it?  That doesn’t sound like something a Lunatic might do to you?” He poured them both another shot as Becky contemplated him.

“How old were you when you were first arrested?” she asked, testing him as she took the offered liquor.

“Fifteen,” Dean responded, “busted trying to buy smokes with a fake cuz I had picked up the habit two years earlier and couldn’t steal from my mom anymore.”  

Becky smirked arrogantly, “Just smokes eh?  I was buyin’ whisky with my fake at fifteen.”

“Yeah but the legal drinking age in Ireland is like eighteen right?” Dean responded, downing another shot, “Remember that here in the good old Land of the Free, we gotta wait until we’re twenty-one to legally drink, and at fifteen there was _no way_ I was gonna pass as twenty-one.  I was way too babyfaced for that.”

“I have a hard time believing you’ve even been a babyface in your life,” Becky told him, but she eyed him down differently this time, appearing to take the challenge.  

He met her gaze, and held it for a moment too long before breaking the silence.  “”Sides, what were you doing drinking at fifteen? I thought you were training in Finn’s gym by then.”

“Oh, I was,” Becky replied, taking her own shot, “But I was a wild child anyway; couldn’t hardly be stopped.  The next year I was busted for shopliftin’ cuz I couldn’t afford any of my gear.”

Dean nodded vigorously in agreement, “Oh yeah, that sounds familiar.  I was arrested for shoplifting _a lot_ , Christ - and not just for my gear either.  I grew up pretty poor so it was a way of life for a long time.”

“Cheers ta that,” Becky said, lifting her glass for a toast.  Dean obliged, and they downed their shots together.

Dean wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and asked, “So when did they bust you for the underage drinking?”

“An’ how do you know I got busted for that?” Becky asked, but Dean didn’t reply verbally; he just stared her down until she replied.  “Seventeen,” she grumbled, “and only because I got caught throwing up inta a bush on my way out of a house party. I was thisclose.”

Dean smirked cockily, “I knew it had happened, it was just a matter of when.”

“Yeah, well, when did _you_ get busted for that?”

“Never did for that one.  I was always doing something crazier than that.  But at seventeen I had failed my driving test and got busted driving without a valid license because - and listen to this bullshit - the cop that pulled me over claimed I was driving ‘too carefully’ in that part of town and I had a warrant for my vandalism probation violation.”

“Are you kiddin’ me?!” Becky exclaimed loudly, “What kinda crock o’ shite is that? Christ!”

“Hey, you’re tellin’ me sister,” Dean said, taking another shot and motioning to the bartender for another bottle, “I was lost, which is why I was slow rollin’; I was trying to figure out where the fuck I was.  But that’s maybe the tamest reason I got arrested.”

As their spirits were replenished, Dean continued chattering, “Like I said before, I was doing crazier shit than underage drinking, like the vandalism charge, which I’m lucky was just that.”

“I got a vandalism arrest myself,” Becky interjected with a giant grin on her face.  

Dean raised an eyebrow, “Is that a challenge?” he laughed a little, “Mine wins, but go on, tell me yours first little girl.”

“I am **The Man** , and don’t you fuckin forget it,” Becky grumbled, taking a shot, “My friends and I at the time - a terrible group of young teenage assholes - filled one o’ th’ public fountains with pit balls, like the kind you find in kids’ playpens? Then we started spray paintin’ cocks on all the nearby buildings.  When the cops showed up - which we weren’t expectin’ as it was very late at night but some nosey old biddy had woken up and phoned ‘em - we all gave ‘em the finger and ran, figuring that they wouldn’t chase us all. Unlucky for me, one of the more aggressive bastards jumped in a car and ran me down, which is how I ended up arrested along with two or three other slowpokes.”

Dean grinned, “Impressive, and not entirely unsimilar to mine.  We also flipped the cops off and ran after committing vandalism but my charge included arson.”

“Arson?!” Becky spluttered, “Don’t it stop being vandalism then?”

“Molotov cocktails and an abandoned warehouse got my arson charge reduced down to vandalism, though I don’t remember the bullshit story my lawyer spun about ‘intent’ and whatever.  But yeah there ya go. We were at one of the big abandoned warehouses and we were spray painting and chucking rocks and fucking shit up while getting stoned when we decided to make Molotov cocktails out of supplies we found lying around.  Not sure how the cops found us, actually, just know that they did. We flipped them off and ran but I took a wrong turn and ended up down a dead end and cornered.”

“If Molotov cocktails are considered only vandalism, then I grew up in the wrong country,” Becky said, taking another shot, “You got a car theft story?"

“Maybe, though it depends on what is meant by theft.  You first,” Dean responded with a shot of his own.

“It’s kinda funny actually.  I swiped my grandma’s car for a joyride - the old coot hadn’t had a license in an age so th’ car hadn’t been used in just as long.  I figured she wouldn’t miss it, but I hadn’t realized th’ plates had been taken off o’ th’ thing. Course, the cops notice when you’re driving an old station wagon wit no plates.”

“Yeah they do.  What did you do?”

“Kept driving like I hadn’t seen ‘em.  I knew as soon as I stopped, I was done for, so I led ‘em on a low speed chase til I ran out o’ gas.  Must’ve been forty-five minutes to an hour before they got me.”

“Y’know, that’s a respectable arrest.  I’ll give you credit for that one,” Dean said, saluting her with the shot glass, “ **But** I can still beat that, because I was a crazy somebitch.  At one point in my youth I stole a Little Debbie truck so I could go visit my friends.”

“A _what_?”

“Hostess, snack cakes? Those shitty little sweets you find at gas stations?”

Becky rolled her eyes, “I know what they _are_ , dumbass, but what do you mean a _truck_ of them?”

“You know, the delivery trucks?  Little Debbie ones aren’t like big eighteen wheelers, they’re more the size of U-Hauls.  I was waiting at a bus stop trying to go meet some people; it’s like January and I’m freezing my balls off waiting for this late ass bus when I turn to the Seven Eleven behind and I see the delivery guy get out the truck and leave it running.  I waited a couple minutes, but when it looked like he was gonna be held up inside the store, I jumped in and took off. Took ‘em most of a day to find me and I hadn’t managed to sell off the product in the truck so I only got slapped with the theft.”

“Dat’s pretty funny,” Becky said, giggling and flushed as she got drunker.  She took another shot and said, “But if that’s how you behave, then you’ll be proud of this next story.”

“Lay it on me.”  Dean threw back yet another shot.

Becky grinned, big and shit-eating, “I had this boyfriend when I was too young to know better, who was part of this petty theft ring - purse snatching, pickpocketing, breaking into cars, and all that sort of thing.”

“Sounds like familiar territory to me.”

“So we’re working our way through a street o’ parked cars, ‘round a small public park late at night.  I’m doing lookout and scoutin’ when I spot the flashlight o’ th’ cops coming through the park. So I pop off our agreed upon signal and commence wit th’ distraction.  Considering I was woefully unprepared for this situation to actually happen, I did the first thing to pop into my head. I jumped out from behind some bushes and flashed the two officers.”

Dean was in the middle of a shot when she said this, and it nearly came out his nose.

“Able to do nothin’ else, but wantin’ to make sure I was really distractin’ ‘em, I went full on - pretending to be a party girl drunk and stripping down and trying ta give sexual favors to the officers.  Which is how I ended up with a prostitution charge as well, because I don’t know whether those dumbasses missed my signal, or they ignored it, or _what_ but the next thing I know one of the pigs breaks away yelling for backup, having caught the other goings-on.  So I instinctively headbutt the cop holdin’ me and take off after the other guy, screamin’ bloody murder meself to try an’ get the boys to scatter.  And here’s where it gets fuzzy because suddenly, there are three more cops than there were, and I’m being wrapped up and tackled. I didn’t go down without a fight; I was kickin’ and spittin’ and bitin’ and then my boyfriend like leaps onto the back o’ one o’ officers I’m strugglin’ wit.  He’s screamin’ at them to let me go, throwin’ punches and kicks, cursin’ his fool head off til they tasered him.”

Dean was bent over the table laughing, pounding the surface with his fist.  “Now **there’s** an arrest story!” he crowed, “You were right Becks, I’m pretty proud of you for that one.”  They fist-bumped across the table while Dean wiped tears out of his eyes.

“Yeah, you like that out of a woman?” she asked him cheekily.

“I certainly appreciate the zest for life,” Dean said dodgily, “That was a pretty good story though, and I don’t know if I can top it but let’s continue trying shall we?”

“Yeah sure.  What’cha got next?”

“Well, not sure if this counts, because I didn’t actually get arrested for it, but I did _almost_ get arrested for check forgery.”

“No shit!” Becky’s jaw unintentionally dropped, “You weren’t kiddin’ when you said you were into crazy shit!  How the fuck does one _almost_ get arrested for check forgery?”

“This one is fucked up, because you’d expect me to say it’s like my fuckin’ mom or somethin’ right? And then she comes and bails me out and yadda yadda?  No, get this. My twenty-first was creepin’ up, and I wanted to go party and legally drink but at the time I could barely make my fuckin’ rent. I’m looking for side jobs, anything under the table that would pay cash I could go party with and my buddy tells me instead he’s got a real job I can  have. Starts telling me about this debt collection agency he works for that has, like, a great pay and fantastic hours and it’s real flexible and whatever. I’m skeptical because I know the scumbags I’m around, but it starts sounding more and more legit when he says it’s all credit card debt, and you’re doing it by phone, all that shit right? Okay so I agree to give it a try and he gets me an interview.”

Becky leaned over the table, enraptured, and took a shot while motioning for Dean to continue.

“Long story short, the interview goes really well and the guy not only wants to hire me on the spot, but generously wants to cut me an advance on my paycheck to help my out in my time of need.  Cool; shady, but cool. Usually I use check cashing places, but my landlord at the time wasn’t a slumlord, he was like a legit landlord. He wanted a paper trail and had us deposit rent directly into a bank account, so I figured I’d just sign the check over to him and at least I wouldn’t have to worry about that.  So I go to the bank and turn the check over and all of a sudden the teller starts actin’ real funny, and I end up being pulled into a back office and sat down by like three cops and two dudes in suits calling themselves FBI. Now, I’m not usually a snitch, but I had absolutely zero loyalty to either the place I got the check from or the scumbag who got me the job so I told them everything I knew.”

“What happened, though?!”

“Turns out the whole operation was a front for the mob; particularly a loan sharking scheme and protection racket.  I got off because of the information I provided and I didn’t even have to testify. If that guy had never cut me that check, they’d never have been caught so that’s what it came back to and I came out of it clean.”

Becky whistled lowly.  “That is one **giant** bullet you managed to dodge there,” she said, vaguely in awe.  

“Yeah,” Dean said with a grimace, “almost makes me want another drink.”  He reached for the bottle and poured another shot.

“Well, olright,” Becky said, “if that was all before you turned twenty-one, what happened once you were legal to drink?”

Dean snorted and took another shot, “Well, my birthday party ended with me drunkenly shooting at the moon so I’d say it started off on the same crazy foot.”

“You did what now?” Becky asked him with a laugh.

“You heard me,” Dean said, “I got **fucked** up and I got into an argument with the moon that ended when I tried to shoot its punk ass out of the sky.”

Becky was doubled over with her laughter.  “Oh Christ, I don’t think I’ve ever been _that_ drunk!” she crowed.  

“Pretty certain I wasn’t _just_ drunk,” Dean said, pointing at her with the shot glass, “and what about you?  Did you just stop partying after twenty?”

“No of course not!  Here’s one: remember that trash boyfriend from the theft ring?”

Dean nodded.

“So he tried to be romantic with me one night, and our date ended with us skinny dippin’ in a hotel pool - you know, the way you do.  But of course, we’re loud dumbasses, and security catches us, but they’re absolutely useless. So we keep them runnin’ around and we keep goin’ back to what we’re doin’ and repeating the cycle until they call the actual cops.  So we book it, and we take a turn and he’s runnin’ a little faster than me and I can see this fence ahead of us that I can climb but only if I have a boost because it’s up just a little high for me. I’m tryin’ to tell this to boyfriend because if he boosts me, I can help pull him up when he jumps for it, but he acts like he doesn’t hear me, and doesn’t look behind him before he hits the fence, and he’s up and over before I get there.  Only once he’s over does he look back to see me standing there and he gives me this ‘oops sorry’ look before taking off.”

“Now that’s some bullshit,” Dean told her, “Seth would never leave you behind like that.”

Becky let out a hard shot of laughter, “Oh really?  Is that an endorsement?”

“Maybe.”

“If it helps, I punched the first cop that encountered me in the face and tried to run back the way I came to find another exit.”

“Atta girl.  You ever get busted for speeding?”

Becky snorted, “Of course.  What do I look like, some kind of amature?”

“Funny.  So I’m getting out of a house party, drunk as fuck and hungrier than hell, and I must be doing fifty through the city, which is at least twenty over what I should be doing and probably twice the BAC I should be driving at.  If that wasn’t bad enough, I’ve got an absolutely giant bag of weed on me, a few baggies of coke, and a few bars of Xanax in the seat next to me, with a giant ass hunting knife in the glovebox and the beer I left the party with in the cup holder next to me.  We clear on just how many charges I’m getting when I get pulled over?”

“Fuckin’ _hell_ Ambrose.”

“I swallow the couple of Xanax quick and then throw the few baggies of coke under my seat.  I **know** I’m getting busted for the pot, and I’m **praying** that they don’t look in the glove box when my brain catches up to the open container sitting next to me.  I glance in the rearview, because the pig is taking forever to get out of the car it seems, and make a split decision to down the rest of the contents, because fuck if you’re gonna charge me with an open container if that container is empty.  Which is, of course, right when the cop gets to the window.

“No shit.”

“Yeah, so now I am well aware of how deep in the shit I am and I decide to deflect it by being the most obnoxious bitch I could possibly be.  I acted as belligerent and combative as I knew how, I resisted absolutely everything they asked, and in general I made an absolute fool of myself.”

“And how did that work out for ya?”

“It worked, surprisingly enough.  They never found the coke, or the knife.  I got busted with the pot - but not with intent to sell - the DWI, speeding, and resisting arrest.  I managed to avoid assaulting an officer by being too drunk to know what I was doing.”

“And you’re tellin’ me that all that was the good outcome?”

“It could have been much worse, yeah.”

“If you say so,” she said, “I can’t imagine any of that going over as well back home.  I got caught drinking and speeding too, over here in the states but I wasn’t involved with nearly as much bullshit.”

“Do tell.”

“So, it’s like me and my three closest girlfriends.  We’re gonna call them Charlene, Sarah and Bay...lor. Yeah that.  Names changed to protect me.”

Dean snorted, “Yeah I think I get who we’re talking about.”

“It’s summertime, and we’ve just gotten out of the clubs, and like you we are hungry as all hell.  What is it about drinkin’ an’ needin’ food?”

Dean shook his head, “Couldn’t tell you.”

“I am by far the most sober of the four of us and that is sayin’ somethin’ if you know who we’re talkin’ about.  So I decide I’m gonna do the drivin’ and I grab the keys to the car away from the now too far gone DD and we pile in.  We’re bumpin’ music way too loud, dancin’ in the car, windows down, and since we’re all too hot with the weather and whatnot, we’re removin’ extraneous layers as we go.  So as a recap: this is a car of four drunk chicks, speedin’ half-naked with music turned up way too loud.”

“I gotta start partyin’ with you.”

“This is exactly how we get pulled over.  And when we do, we all start whining like children as the pig comes to the window.  I am doing my _very_ best - and failing, mind you - to pretend I’m sober but the other three aren’t helping at all.  All three of them keep cuttin’ into the exchange, shoutin’ things at the officer. Char keeps tryin’ to turn the radio back up.  To this particular cop’s credit, he was really tryin’ _not_ to have to arrest us.  He really just wanted to give us a ticket and call a cab and a tow and let us go.  But none of us were done partyin’ for the night, and there was _no way_ I was payin’ for a tow I didn’t actually need.  Which, is really how all the trouble got started.”

“Oh, _that’s_ where your trouble got started.  Right.”

“Shut up.  I’m arguin’ with ‘im to give me a field sobriety test, because I think that I can bullshit that enough to get us free, but he insists he won’t let us go without a breathalyzer, which I know I’m not passin’.  Meanwhile, Saraha and Baylor in my backseat get the bright idea to moon the other officer through the rear window, which enrages the guy and next thing I know my passengers are being dragged from the car. Charlo...ene, sorry Charlene is throwin’ herself around flippin’ between propositioning the officers and threatenin’ to sue, while the backseat twins start gettin’ aggressive.  About the time Sash...Sarah starts cursin’ and kickin’ the officer _I’m_ dealin’ wit reaches out to grab me.  I instinctively pull back, because fuck if you’re just gonna put your hands on me, and I elbow the newly arrived backup in the face, landing me face first on the hood of the cop car.”

“Splendid.  How bad did it end up?”

“Well, thanks to some outside help, it mostly ended up being fines and a night in jail to sleep it off.”

“That’s because you have friends in high places now,” Dean said, “And I ain’t ever been so lucky, as the next story will bear out.”

“Tell me.”

“Rolled a stop sign with a loaded gun in the glovebox.”

“How do you continually manage to surprise me with your antics?  Like, by now I shouldn’t be askin’ for clarification, but you did what now?”

“I rolled a stop sign while driving a car that was neither mine, nor street legal, with a loaded gun in the glovebox that was neither mine, nor did I have a permit to carry.”

“Man, that is not a good situation to find yourself in.”

“Yeah and then I did what I do, which is hit the gas and give chase.  Now, the chase didn’t last long, because as I said I was driving an illegal piece of shit that couldn’t pass inspection and as soon as I passed eighty the engine crapped out on me.  Didn’t make it far on foot either.”

“You are lucky you are not locked up for life,” Becky told him, “My next story is **much** better and right up your alley.”

“Yeah?” Dean took another shot, “How do you think you can top ‘high speed chase with a loaded gun’?”

“I convinced a cop to help me rob a place.”

Dean spit that shot right back out, “Okay, you got me.  Guess it’s my turn to be surprised. You did what now?”

“I convinced a cop to help me rob a place.  Specifically, the bitch’s house that my trashy ex was stayin’ at.  I got caught by a patrol officer trying to get inta the joint through a window, but he somehow bought my story about somethin’ I’d forgotten and leaving my keys behind.  So instead he gives me a boost inta the place, and I quickly scope out the shit I’m tryin’ ta take back. I unlock the door to let the cop in and I bullshit enough he really does think it’s my place.  He helps me gather up my shit and even load it into the car - I can’t even remember what bullshit I told him about what I was grabbin’ but he lapped it up like the dog he was. I was almost gone, and so was he when the cunt that actually owned the joint pulled up screamin’ bloody murder.  I’m thrown against the car and the cuffs are on me before I can blink, and he throws me in the back of the car. While the pig is tryin’ ta get the other side of the story, I notice his back windows are down; it bein’ a nice day and all, and him probably not expectin’ to arrest anyone. So I wiggled myself out the open window and took off.”

Dean doubled over the table once more, flushed with booze and amusement.

“He was a young guy payin’ some amount of attention so I didn’t get far but damned if I didn’t try.”

“Alright guys!” came a shout from behind them, “Closing time! I wanna go home too you know!”  Becky turned to see an old bartender with a gray ponytail grimacing at them.

“Alright Stan,” Dean called back, “Thanks for your patience man.  I owe you one.”

“Yeah yeah,” Stan grumbled in the background as Dean tried to stand and stumbled, leaning against the table for support.

“Can you even walk?” Becky asked with a laugh, before trying and failing to stand up straight herself.  

“Can you?” Dean asked with his own chuckle.  

“How about we help each other out here?” Becky suggested as she struggled upright again.

“Oh god,” Stan groaned as Becky slung her arm around Dean’s neck and he wrapped an arm around her waist, “Come on drunkies, out the door.  You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”

“G’night Stan,” Dean called back as he and Becky stumbled off into the night, waving behind them.

FIN


End file.
